"I mean that I CAN'T go into that ring TO-NIGHT," she declared, "and I
won't."

She was desperate now, and trading upon a strength beyond her own.

He looked at her with momentary indecision. She WAS a good rider--the
best since her mother, as he had often told her. He could see this meant
an issue. He felt she would be on her mettle to-morrow, as far as her
work was concerned, if he left her alone to-night.

"All right," he said, sullenly. "Yer can stay off to-night. I got the
crowd in there, anyway, and I got their money. I'll let Eloise do a turn
on Barbarian, but TO-MORROW you'd better show me your old act."

"I'll show you!" she cried. "I'll show you!"

"Well, see that you do." He crossed into the ring.

Polly stood where Barker had left her, white and tense. Jim came toward
her from the direction of the wagons. He glanced at her uneasily.
"What's he been a-sayin' ter you?"

"He says I can't ride any more." Her lips closed tightly. She stared
straight ahead of her. "He says I was no good to the people that took me
in, and I'm no use here."

"It's not so!" thundered Jim.

"No; it's not!" she cried. "I'll show him, Jim! I'll show
him--to-morrow!" She turned toward the dressing tent; Jim caught her
firmly by the wrist.

"Wait, Poll! You ain't ever goin' into the ring a-feelin' THAT WAY." Her
eyes met his, defiantly.

"What's the difference? What's the difference?" She wrenched her wrist
quickly from him, and ran into the dressing tent laughing hysterically.

"And I brung her back to it," mumbled Jim as he turned to give orders to
the property men.

Most of the "first-half props" were loaded, and some of the men were
asleep under the wagons. The lot was clear. Suddenly he felt some one
approaching from the back of the enclosure. He turned and found himself
face to face with the stern, solitary figure of the pastor, wrapped
in his long, black cloak. The moonlight slipped through a rift in the
clouds, and fell in a circle around them.

"What made you come here?" was all Jim said.

"I heard that Miss Polly didn't ride to-day. I was afraid she might be
ill."

"What's that to you?"

"She ISN'T ill?" Douglas demanded anxiously, oblivious to the gruffness
in the big fellow's voice.

"She's all right," Jim answered shortly as he shifted uneasily from one
foot to the other, and avoided the pastor's burning gaze.

"And she's happy? she's content?"

"Sure."

"I'm glad," said Douglas, dully. He tried t